


Turn off the light

by sareyen



Series: Light Switch [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mutant and proud doesn't apply to telepaths apparently, Poor Charles Xavier, Post-X-Men: First Class (2011), Telepathy, excessive use of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sareyen/pseuds/sareyen
Summary: For some reason, people thought that Charles's telepathy was like turning a light on and off. That, if he wanted to rummage around someone's head, he would just flick a switch and dive in to his heart's content, and once he was done, he could tug on the switch and be just like everyone else.But telepathy wasn't like a light to be turned on and off. It was more akin to breathing. Charles could hold his breath for a short while, but there was really only one way to stop breathing completely, wasn't there?So, like that, Charles turned off the light.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Raven | Mystique & Charles Xavier
Series: Light Switch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916494
Comments: 34
Kudos: 150





	Turn off the light

**Author's Note:**

> This is set very loosely after X-Men: First Class, but where most mutants (i.e. non-telepaths) are somewhat accepted, and mutants have a safe haven called Genosha, and in which the beach divorce doesn't happen but maybe that was less depressing than this?
> 
> I've honestly always had a soft spot for Charles, because whenever people (coughRavenandErikcough) are all 'mutant and proud' it usually comes out more like 'yes be mutant and proud but oh not if you're a telepath because we don't want you to use your powers lol'. Say no to telepath discrimination, please.
> 
> So, yeah, I wrote this because what would happen when all of the little comments begin to add up? And because I usually write happy stuff and I gotta get my angst out somehow.

For some reason, people thought that Charles's telepathy was like turning a light on and off. That, if he wanted to rummage around someone's head, he would just flick a switch and dive in to his heart's content, and once he was done, he could tug on the switch and be just like everyone else.

But telepathy wasn't like a light to be turned on and off. It was more akin to breathing. Like how everyone's lungs filled with air, doing what was natural for them, Charles's mind breathed in thoughts like it was meant to. In the way that you can hold your breath, straining as you did so, Charles's mind was the same; he could block you out, but he would need to concentrate to do it, because if he didn't, his mind would do what it naturally would. _Breathe._

So, when people told him _'Get out of my head, Charles'_ or _'Stop reading my thoughts, Charles'_ , they didn't realise that they were telling him to suffocate.

But that was the way it has always been, and likely the way things will always be. That wasn't to say that things haven't come a long way with time. Mutants were beginning to be accepted in the world; Raven walked around azure and scaled, Hank went to the library furry and blue, and Angel let her wings unfurl when she wanted to stretch them without a second thought. Even Erik often walked down busy streets with his metal coin twirling and hovering over his palm, so naturally, so at ease. Mutant and proud, as they say.

Everyone always smiled when they saw other mutants embrace their powers in Genosha, and yet, when Charles answered their silent thoughts that wondered about what was on the menu for dinner, or if they had any milk left in the fridge, their smiles would turn into small frowns and the walls inside their minds would clam up. They didn't need to _say_ it, but the barbs around their minds said enough; _'Stay out, Charles'._

The thing about telepathy was that, in the right time and place, it was something to inspire awe; when they needed to unearth Shaw's plans from Emma Frost's mind, Charles telepathy was a gift. Convenient. Erik asked him to wield it, to embrace it, and he had kissed him once they returned back home and murmured _"You were amazing, Charles. What you did was amazing_ ," against the telepath's mouth. But then, in Cuba, Erik had shut him out. Inconvenient. At the wrong time and place, telepathy was something abhorred, unwanted, _feared_.

You see, this is how it has always been. Since their youth, Raven had always complained about how Charles had made her hide her blue skin and yellow eyes, about how unlike Charles and Erik whose shells could pass off as human, they would never accept her. But now, she was walking around in her natural skin and thriving, and Charles was happy for her. He told her so without moving his mouth, and Raven had huffed, reminding him that he had promised to stay out of her head. It was funny how people never seemed to realise that it wasn't only humans that didn't accept telepaths, but mutants too.

Family, too.

And Charles was tired - tired at being told not to breathe, to stifle himself, to constantly tread on eggshells with all of his muscles tensed in order to hold everything that was natural in. It was hard to hold his mental breath when there were people around telling him to _just turn the switch off_ , so it was only natural for Charles to begin withdrawing himself in favour of finding quiet places where it was just him and his mind, the only one in the world that seemed to want him in it. For someone whose powers let him spend time in the minds of others, Charles spent an awful amount of it wallowing inside his own.

Like how Genosha was a safe haven for mutants, these quiet pockets of solitude were something similar for Charles, though the library in the middle of the night or the secluded bench at the edge of the vast Westchester gardens were more hiding places than a safe haven. When Charles was alone in these hideaways, he could breathe a bit more easily; he could let his mind stretch out, mental muscles cracking after being cramped and contorted into a small locked box for a long time. He didn't have to be fearful of overstepping the boundaries placed around him or feeling the mental backlash of rejection and wariness directed at him if he did, and he didn't have to exhaust his energy trying to keep it all inside. It was at these times that Charles could replenish his energy before, when morning broke, he had to stop breathing again, so everyone else could breathe easy.

It was harder to find time to rest these days, though. Before, Charles had the space inside his bedroom to let his thoughts roam free. But now that Erik spent the nights pressed against Charles's back, breath gently fanning against his skin as he breathed steadily and deeply, Charles could not rest. During sleep, Charles couldn't keep a hold on his telepathy, and the first night Charles had subconsciously dipped into Erik's dream - or nightmare, really. Flashes of Shaw, of Auschwitz, of death and pain and intimate agony had made Erik startle awake at the feeling of Charles's mental presence, scuttling across the bed in a cold sweat.

 _"Were you in my head, Charles? Did you see?"_ Erik had churned out, almost accusingly. Charles had nodded in the dark, apologising instantly - because that was what he always did, _apologise._

Charles sometimes wondered why he always felt the need to apologise. Raven never apologised for walking around naked in her skin, or Erik for making the metal rattle when he got excited. And yet, Charles apologised for _breathing,_ again and again and again.

Still, Charles apologised, over and over, and assured Erik that he would try harder to stay out of his head. Erik accepted that, though Charles could feel the apprehension waft off him in waves, and the two settled back under the covers once again. Erik soon drifted to sleep, arm loosely draped over Charles's stomach, but the telepath couldn't quite fall back into unconsciousness as easily, knowing that the moment his eyes closed his mind would slip back in to where it was not wanted.

Charles let himself enjoy the warmth of Erik's body curled around his until the metallokinetic slipped off into the world of dreams, the telepath sliding out from their shared covers and walking around the quiet mansion to find a pocket of silence. The library always worked, and Charles settled down on a plush settee and draped a thin blanket over his body, letting himself rest for a few moments in the pitch black darkness.

Sometimes, albeit rarely, Charles would curl up and press his head against the pillow on the settee and cry. He would cry because he was exhausted, because everything hurt, because it was so dark without the lights on and because he can't just turn _it_ off _._ These nights would remind Charles of when he was younger, when he didn't understand what was going on and just wanted the voices in his head to _stop_. Back then, he had wanted them to stop because he was scared, but now, he wanted them to stop because everyone else was scared. 

When people asked him why he looked so tired lately, blue eyes shadowed by dark circles and exhaustion, and why it seemed like he wasn't around as much any more, Charles just laughed and shrugged it off, making up excuses. He said he was dead on his feet because he read books late into the night, that he was working on yet another thesis, that he was finding more people like them with Cerebro, because these days that was the only time people would say _'Your power, the things it can do are amazing, Charles'_. He didn't tell them that he couldn't sleep because when he did, he couldn't _turn it off_ , and if he didn't turn it off everyone's thoughts got too loud because he was too loud and they wanted him to stay _out, out, out_.

Charles never told them because they never wanted to hear it, and they never thought to find out because _'well, we're not the telepath here, are we, Charles',_ so no one knew that, on one winter's night, Charles figured out how to turn off the light. Erik had settled into bed first, sleepily mumbling "Aren't you coming to bed, Charles?", the telepath smiling down at him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He told Erik that yes, he'll sleep soon, the metallokinetic grunting as Charles kissed him again, before turning off the lights and slipping from the room.

Charles wore his silk pyjamas as he trekked slowly down the silent halls in the dark, ignoring the shiver of the biting winter cold when he opened the french doors to one of the many balconies of Westchester. His bare feet smarted against the icy stone, his freckled nose turning red as he breathed in and out, white puffs curling into the night air.

For some reason, people thought that Charles's telepathy was like turning a light on and off. That, if he wanted to rummage around someone's head, he would just flick a switch and dive in to his heart's content, and once he was done, he could tug on the switch and be just like everyone else.

But telepathy wasn't like a light to be turned on and off. It was more akin to breathing. Charles could hold his breath for a short while, but there was really only one way to stop breathing completely, wasn't there?

So, like that, Charles turned off the light.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry.


End file.
